


One-Shot Lubrication Pedal

by Mazarin221b



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Anal Sex, Anthropomorphic car, Bentley has feelings too you know, Bentley sex, Crowley's Bentley (Good Omens), Jealousy, M/M, No it's not sex WITH the car
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-01
Updated: 2019-07-01
Packaged: 2020-05-31 13:00:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19426501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mazarin221b/pseuds/Mazarin221b
Summary: For the 666 Fics Fics Fics challenge - Bentley Sex! Had to get there in exactly 666 words, and hell yeah they did.Bentley has, by virtue of existing in Crowley’s life the last 100 years, seen a lot.





	One-Shot Lubrication Pedal

**Author's Note:**

> What's the best bit about fandoms? When you and your friends get together and do awesome fun challenges! Thanks to Lacuna for the excellent beta on this!

Bentley has, by virtue of existing in Crowley’s life the last 100 years, seen a lot.

Her master is a reliable gentleman, tending carefully to whatever nicks and odd rock pings she had picked up over the years. He keeps her tuned and oiled, engine running like a top. She wants to please him, and he loves her for it.

She has, however, never experienced anything like this: her master with head thrown back in the passenger seat, grinding in the lap of his one constant companion. Bentley squeaks ominously under the shadow of the trees as they rock with breathy exclamations, dappled moonlight highlighting a flash of red hair here, a pale thigh there, fingers clutched in the smooth skin of her master’s waist.

“That's it, you gorgeous thing, fuck me like you mean it,” her master's friend moans. Her master growls in response, his body a long, lean line in the pale wash of light, as silvery and beautiful as Bentley’s own, and Bentley jolts as they pick up the pace, springs creaking.

They're well matched, she thinks, smugly. Better than this friend, who is, astonishingly, allowed to be bare of clothes on her pristine leather seats, and there is actual _sweat_ , oh good God above and Satan below.

“Can you take more, darling?” his friend asks, and her master gasps. His knees dig harder into the seat, fingers clutching the headrest in a grip so tight Bentley is just a bit alarmed. The seat is reclined as far as it will go, and there is a warning creak as the weight of both of them presses down on the seatback. She’s not made for this, honestly. The glass inside is fogged beyond all reason, and Bentley wishes she had little windscreen wipers on the inside.

He owes her for this. A full wash and wax and detail.

“Aziraphale, _please_ ,” he moans, hand moving over his lap. “For an angel you’re a right bastard.”

His friend laughs, a long, low chuckle that Bentley has never heard from him before. He sounds smug. Like he was her master’s...master. “You know you love it when I tease you.”

“Don’t love it,” her master gasps. “I don’t.”

“That’s it, my beautiful one." A shift, a soft whimper of surrender. "Come for me, then, and show me just how much you don’t love it.”

Her master gasps, then shudders, white fluid springing from his body and onto his friend. His friend sucks in a breath and his hips lift in short, shuddering thrusts.

Instead of the alarm Bentley expected at her master springing a sudden leak, he is pleased, slightly giddy, his friend peppering his face with kisses.

Bentley shudders as some of their fluids drip onto the seat.

Her master tips off to the side, back into the seat behind the steering wheel, and flinches.

"Aw, no, we've really messed up the seats, poor darling. She’s going to get so cross.”

“Poor darling? Every single time I’m in this car I end up with a bruise on my knee from the dash or a rather nasty leather burn somewhere. We should consider perhaps getting a bigger car, if we intend to succumb to temptation like this while we’re out.”

Bentley rattles warningly. A new car? How dare he? Bentley concentrates very hard, and a drip of transmission fluid slides out from a tiny pinhole in the dash and onto his friend’s trousers.

He yelps when he feels it. Serves him right. “Crowley, drat it all, your car is leaking on me.” Her master chuckles and preens, and there are...parts, she supposes, on display. A gear shift, maybe? She’s never seen her master need one before. Strange, that.

“Don’t you dare listen to him, my beauty,” her master purrs, and pats the dash. “He’s a terrible being with no sense of style.” Her master reaches over and caresses her seat, and the fluids vanish.

He always has taken good care of his Bentley.

They're well matched.

**Author's Note:**

> The title is actually a real part of a Bentley dashboard. When I saw it, I couldn't not. https://images.app.goo.gl/rLpkh5BKZiRwNoLN7


End file.
